


pretty boy blues

by gothxclaudia



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Bi-Curiosity, Bisexual Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Clubbing, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Drunk Sex, Feelings Realization, Hangover, Lust, M/M, Making Out, Memory Loss, Morning After, Morning Sex, One Night Stands, One Shot, POV Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Sapnap and Dream, Smoking, Strangers, dreamnap, femboy sapnap, i dont know man i thought this was really cute, mcyt - Freeform, pretty boy sapnap, sapnap - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:34:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28615884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothxclaudia/pseuds/gothxclaudia
Summary: clay wakes up in a stranger's bed with a pounding headache and no recollection of the night before.cute one night stand oneshot ♡! slight sexual content !sapnap x dream
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 408





	pretty boy blues

the sun’s rays peek through open curtains, casting light upon the gloomy bedroom. objects start to materialize, colors on walls and carpets becoming more prominent. outside, birds are singing, and distant sounds of traffic cut through the otherwise so peaceful morning silence.

waking up every day is something all of us do. that irritating sunlight shines into our eyes, and we groan as we realize that we forgot to shut the blinds last night. clay thought that today would be no different. get up, make breakfast, watch the cars pass by on the street. 

but when his dry eyes pry open, his nightstand isn’t there. his ceiling fan isn’t there. the bedsheets feel too soft, and the room too bright. this isn’t his bedroom, not his home. what the hell happened last night?

he stretches his sore limbs, becoming acutely aware of his pounding headache. it prevents him from sitting up, makes his eyelids fall shut again. his mouth is dry like a desert, a bitter, disgusting taste present on his tongue. a hangover from hell.

after a few more minutes of rest, he starts to look around the unfamiliar space. the walls are painted baby blue, little glow-in-the-dark stars scattered all over the white ceiling. the room isn’t messy per se, but cute ornaments and decorations litter most surfaces like the desk, the dresser, and the small bookcase in the corner. you could mistake it for a child’s room, as innocently decorated as it is. only the toys are missing.

clay shuffles around underneath the sheets, which are star-themed too. planets and galaxies adorn the pastel pink cotton, together creating the sweetest bed he has ever seen. he grins a little at the adorable setup, too tired to be anxious about having just woken up at someone else’s place.

he tries to search for his phone, but it’s nowhere in sight. his clothes aren’t either. and that’s when he finally realizes that he’s completely naked, not even underwear covering his bare skin. something definitely went down last night.

in a moment of slight panic, he runs a hand through his blond locks, muttering a distressed “fuck” under his breath. everything just got way worse. the last thing he wanted a night out with friends to turn into was this. how the hell will he get out of this situation now? he’s not in the mood for stumbling upon some bitchy girl in the hallway on his way out. he doesn’t want to have that awkward conversation.

his spiraling thoughts are suddenly interrupted by faint thumping sounds, coming from behind the closed door. shit. it’s too late to escape out of a window now. he swallows the lump that’s been building up in his throat, scooching up a bit and straightening his back to at least look somewhat presentable amidst his hungover brain fog.

the matte doorknob turns, his heart skipping a beat with it. in walks a fluffy-haired boy, carrying a glass of water in his right hand. he’s wearing an oversized black band tee, so worn and faded that you can’t even tell the band’s name. if clay had to guess he’d say it’s metallica. his bare thighs are soft and beautifully chubby, just like his rosy cheeks. his lips are plump and pink, curving up into a smile as he spots the stranger in his bed.

“you’re awake,” he chirps, making his way over to the nightstand beside the blond. clay notices that he’s walking with a subtle limp. oh yeah, something  _ definitely  _ went down last night. 

the boy sets the glass down on the flat surface, placing a tylenol tablet next to it.

“figured you’d need it.”

“thank you,” clay replies, visibly confused.

he reaches out for the items immediately, swallowing the painkiller and chugging the water down all in one go. the shorter boy watches him as he exhales out of relief.

“better?”

he shyly fiddles with his fingers as he awaits the blond’s response, his nails painted black.

“yeah.”

an awkward silence sets in while the two strangers observe each other. now that he’s closer, clay can clearly take in his every feature. his eyes are naturally squinted, showing off a warm, hazel color. the disheveled hair on his head is light brown and fluffy. his eyebrows are so perfectly shaped that it could make any girl jealous.

he’s gorgeous. drunk clay’s got some taste, huh?

“uhm, i should go get your clothes.. th-they’re by the front door,” he stutters, tip toeing away again.

clay watches him leave with amusement adorning his expression. the last thing he expected was for a cute guy to come strutting in, right while he was laying naked under said guy’s bedsheets. some regular, blonde girl would’ve been understandable, but this? it’s strange.

not that he’s complaining though, not at all. he hasn’t slept with a guy before, but the thought of it never repelled him. being comfortable with his own sexuality has always been clay’s pride, his trump card of sorts in many situations. if anything, it’s a shame to him that yesterday is a blur. that the new experience is merely an empty slot in his head.

he curses at himself for drinking so much. curses at his mind for the memory loss.

at least his headache is already resolving. as he rubs his eyes, his vision becomes a little clearer. his mouth still tastes like shit, but the slight nausea of earlier is gone. he’s slowly waking up from the zombified state he was in just fifteen minutes ago. the singing of the birds outside isn’t so irritating anymore, instead it’s become rather pleasant. for once he appreciates the sun for shining into the room, brightening up his bitter morning.

it’s not long until muffled footsteps start to echo in the hallway, the white door sliding open as the nameless boy enters again. he’s carrying a wrinkled pile of clay’s old clothes in his arms, approaching the bed to dump the items on it. he does so with a gentle grin, making the rose color pop on his adorable cheeks. who could say no to such a sweetheart? not clay at least. 

“thanks,” he chuckles, straightening out his boxers and pulling them on, still covered by the pink sheets. putting on yesterday’s underwear is never a nice thing, but it’ll have to do for now. his jeans and t-shirt aren’t fresh either. he can’t wait to get home and take a long, hot shower.

the brown-haired boy watches him anxiously, like he wants to say something but can’t quite get it out. the atmosphere in the room is tense, so tense that it could be cut with a pocket knife.

does he remember?

clay suddenly feels like an asshole. he was blackout drunk, and absolutely fucking faded on whatever he consumed yesterday. his memory is wiped. but is the stranger’s too? maybe he remembers, and is just a victim of clay’s dumbassery. that would be shallow. he doesn’t want to hurt the pretty boy’s feelings.

another long, nerve-wracking moment of silence passes. pretty boy observes him shyly as he puts his shirt on, setting his feet on the floor. clay has decided that - since he doesn’t know the stranger’s name yet - he’ll have to call him pretty boy for the time being. it’s fitting. not in an insulting way, but purely because the boy is… well, really pretty to him.

he feels the back pocket of his jeans, sighing in relief when his fingertips brush against his phone. now he can get out of here fast, before pretty boy catches on to what’s up. he doesn’t wanna have to feel the shame that’s creeping up on him because of his actions, or see the boy get upset when he finds out that clay is totally oblivious of last night’s events.

he’s just about to get up and spit out an apology, ask where the exit is, when pretty boy clears his throat, finally interrupting the silence.

“uhh, i-i need a smoke, will you follow me?”

he grabs a pack of marlboro reds that’s been left on top of the dresser. an inevitable smile tugs at clay’s lips, just upon hearing his nervous voice.

“sure.”

pretty boy giggles at that, making a motion for the blond to come with him.

his giggle. it’s adorable. clay can’t help but smile even harder.  _ his stupid giggle. _

they walk over to a glass door on the other side of the room, one that the taller hadn’t even realized existed earlier, probably cause it’s been hidden well by colorful curtains. pretty boy pulls them apart nonetheless, letting the sunlight pour in through the transparent material. on the other side is a somewhat spacious balcony, made up of basic wood and a metal railing running along its sides.

the door unlocks with a click, and the boys collectively step out into the fresh air. the early summer breeze is warm, but nicely so. clay takes a deep breath, enjoying the smell of newly bloomed flowers and green trees. he fixes his curly hair with just a sweep of his hand, making sure that the mess is at least partially controlled.

pretty boy lights his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke. he’s so beautiful when he stands there, the sun making his honey eyes glitter. the blond could view him for hours.

he’s offered a cigarette too, accepting it without a second thought. he could really use some nicotine to distract himself from his shitty hangover. pretty boy flicks his lighter to let clay have a first drag. it’s littered with stickers; smiley faces, flowers and weed plants. the blond adores his aesthetic.

pretty boy lives on the third floor of a middle class apartment building, his balcony overlooking a cozy park with berry bushes and wooden benches. dogs of all sizes are running alongside their owners, children playing on the swings in the playground. their parents converse with each other over cups of coffee, watching over the kids. a normal saturday morning, in other words.

clay vividly recognizes this part of the city. at least he isn’t too far from home.

“uhm- so..”

the shorter boy coughs once, sniffling from all the pollen in the air. 

“w-what’s your name?”

there it is. maybe he doesn’t remember either.

“it’s clay. and yours?”

“nick.”

nick. short and sweet, just like pretty boy himself. it’s fitting.

“i’d like to ask you about…” clay starts, leaning against the railing, “if- uhh, what happened last night. i just don’t really remember, i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine,” nick laughs, “i.. well, i don’t remember much either, honestly.”

he bites his lip, eyeing the blond beside him.

“all i know is that i came to that club with some of my buddies, and.. that’s pretty much it,” clay shrugs, “i was completely gone i guess.”

“i can piece some things together..”

“go on.”

“i went there with a female friend of mine, but i lost her in the crowd after like a few minutes,” he explains, “which was kind of a dickhead move, cause she knows i don’t do well in social situations, and there were so many people there.. but anyways, you spotted me from across the bar a while later, a-and i don’t know why but, you just came up to me, left all your friends and started talking to me instead. i felt kind of flattered…”

pretty boy giggles again, and clay can’t help but grin like an idiot at how cute he is. even though he knows his name now, he still likes referring to him as pretty boy. mentally only, of course. 

“uhm, you bought me a few drinks, and flirted with me i think, we talked for a while, though i don’t remember what we talked about, but… i-i do remember that you called me pretty.”

his cheeks flush pink, and he looks away like he’s ashamed. clay feels a blush creeping up on his own face. drunk him really does get straight to the point.

nick takes a drag off his cigarette, hesitantly continuing the story.

“i thought- i thought you were really handsome. and i.. remember that i wanted to take you home. y-yeah. the rest is kind of a blur. but-”

he cuts himself off, flicking some ash into the pink tinted tray. 

“i-i think we kissed in the taxi. and you touched me… and i liked it.”

clay grips the railing hard, to get rid of that tingling feeling in his fingertips. pretty boy recalls more than he thought.

“so that’s why you’re so kind to me now?” he asks, “bringing me painkillers, my clothes.. because i’m not a stranger to you?”

“even if you were, i would’ve acted the same. i don’t have the heart to just, throw someone out. just cause they’re a stranger doesn’t mean i shouldn’t treat them nice, you know?”

pretty boy is such a sweetheart.

“well, thank you for letting me stay. and for not freaking out on me in the morning,” the taller chuckles.

“i vaguely knew who you were, at least.”

pretty boy looks down at his feet. his eyes are sad. almost like he wants to cry. did yesterday mean something more to him?

clay catches that same, all too familiar feeling of shame creeping up on his conscience. he doesn’t want to hurt the poor boy. he doesn’t want to believe that it’s too late already. one night stands are supposed to be executed with no strings attached, deleted from one’s memory out of embarrassment the next day. you get out, and you move on. but clay isn’t embarrassed.

rather, he feels drawn to pretty boy. drawn to the whole scenario in itself. the smaller is clearly kind-hearted, sensitive, and only god knows what last night really meant to him. even though he doesn’t seem to remember much either, he’s recalled way more than clay. clay didn’t even know who the boy was when he woke up in his bed. but pretty boy knew him. pretty boy knows how clay came up to him in the bar. how he called him pretty. how he wanted to take the blond home.

when he gazes at the shorter beside him, emotions start to stir. his cherry lips are slightly parted, his gorgeous honey eyes observing people passing by on the paths below.

clay finds himself wishing he could remember. wishing he could kiss those lips. wishing he could see the smaller trapped under him, twitching and trembling from the pleasure. wishing he could hear his high pitched moans and messy screams pour out as he fucks him. wishing he could remember how good it felt to be inside of his pretty boy.

“i wish i didn’t forget.”

nick freezes. his expression doesn’t say much at first, but once he turns to face the blond a smile has materialized on his lips. he takes one last drag before butting his cigarette, leaving it to rest in the ashtray. clay glances back at him with an identical kind of adoration. the tension from earlier is sneaking back into the air, although this time it’s a comfortable tension. a warming one.

and so they remain for a little while. pretty boy watches the taller finish his smoke too, shivering as a gust of wind grazes the hairs on his arms and legs. the sun has hid away behind a pesky flock of clouds, no longer providing enough heat for the small boy in his t-shirt. clay places a gentle hand on his clothed shoulder, taking a step towards the balcony door.

“let’s go inside.”

nick nods, following his escort away from the cold without a word. the lock clicks shut behind them. once again, they’re trapped together, in the room where everything went down last night. but trapped isn’t the right word. clay rather likes the boy’s cute bedroom, with the pastel colors and childish decorations. something in his head likes it so much in fact, that he’d consider coming back. and maybe the colors aren’t the only reason why.

his phone feels cold in his hand when he grips it, slowly sliding it out of his back pocket. he unlocks it with touch id and opens up maps. today’s list of chores is long; grocery shopping, vacuuming his apartment, among other things. there’s no time to lose. he needs to get home, it’s the bitter truth.

pretty boy is sat on the wrinkled bedsheets, looking at him so innocently like an angel. clay doesn’t notice his careful gaze until he puts his phone away again. pretty boy knows what he’s doing. his feet dangle off the side of the bed, his hands clasped together between his bare thighs. he’s got that same, sad look going on again. like he wants to say something, but can’t muster up enough courage to do so.

the air is still, and awkward from the lack of conversation. that’s until clay clears his throat, itching the back of his neck.

“can i have your number?”

pretty boy shines up a little, straightening his back.

“of course,” he giggles, reaching for his phone on the nightstand.

the blond takes a seat next to him as they exchange digits, typing in quirky names for themselves in the other’s contacts. it makes pretty boy laugh again, and clay wishes he could listen to that laugh forever. it melts him. it’s contagious, too.

“you can’t just name yourself clay with an eggplant emoji!” the smaller whines.

“what?” clay scoffs, “of course i can! it’s fitting, admit it.”

the boy’s cheeks turn a bright red. he can’t argue with that.

“okay, yeah, whatever.”

he puts his phone away, trying to hide his face out of embarrassment. is he uncomfortable? clay can’t help but start worrying. just because they slept together last night doesn’t mean that he’s okay with… any of this. the tall boy might not have suggested they do anything, but if that little joke set him off? who knows.

it’s all too much at once. clay realizes that he better get going. he doesn’t want to be a nuisance anymore. maybe getting his number was a bad idea from the start. maybe staying in bed and then for a smoke was just as dumb.

he’s getting overly attached to his pretty boy.  _ his. _ pretty boy isn’t even his. why does he refer to him in that way? because he’s so gorgeous, because he’s so kind and sweet? he doesn’t think of nick like  _ that,  _ does he? all the questions are giving him a headache.

one night stands are things of the past for a reason.

pretty boy probably only wants to be his friend. that’s why he got his number. pretty boy would be disgusted if he found out what clay mentally calls him. he giggles and blushes only because that’s who he is, shows kindness for the same reason. he’s just a joyous, naive sweetheart. just a free spirit.  _ just a fucking cutie. _

they make eye contact. emerald greens and honey hazels. amidst the blond’s confusing, stirring thoughts and feelings, one appears more prominent than the others. desire. the desire; the craving for the smaller boy’s lips, his soft body. clay wants to touch him, trail his hands over his smooth skin. touch him like he did yesterday. bless him with gratification. clay doesn’t want it to be just a one time thing.

he can feel the heat from pretty boy’s thighs, because they’re almost brushing against his own. their shoulders could touch as well, if he scooted a bit closer. their hands could subtly intertwine, as if they were shy middle schoolers. then, their lips could clash, and their tongues too. but clay has to leave. he has to leave now, before he does something stupidly impulsive like that.

he leans forward, hands on the mattress to push himself up. but he stops when he feels a sudden warmth embrace his knuckles. pretty boy’s hand is slightly smaller as it rests on top of his own.

“stay with me.”

he says it so softly, almost like he’s begging. the taller’s heart flutters. he can feel the tickling of a thousand butterflies in his stomach. they dance together, flapping their frail wings, effectively making him lightheaded with want and need.

“i-i have to get home, i-”

“please.”

pretty boy takes his hand and plays with his fingers, bending and feeling them anxiously. his black nails suit him so well. and he keeps moving closer. how could clay ever say no? to  _ his  _ pretty boy.

“i… uhm-”

the shorter’s breath is shaky, his words too. his eyes dart across the room a few times, before meeting clay’s again. it’s almost like he’s staring into his soul, like he can read all of the blond’s scattered thoughts.

“i lied.”

“huh?”

those careful hands grip clay’s chin, fingers running along his perfect jawline. his skin burns from the contact.

“yeah, i did. i-i remember everything,” pretty boy confesses, “every little detail. like how you adressed me.. ‘pretty boy’. it made me happy.”

clay loses his breath.  _ he remembers. _

“i remember how you kissed me, touched me, fucked me… a-and i loved every single second of it.”

_ pretty boy remembers. _

he scoots over so that their lips are mere inches apart, so that his hot exhales graze the blond’s sensitive skin. clay’s head is spinning, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest as it beats faster and faster.

“i want you…” the smaller whispers, his eyes half-lidded, dreamy.

clay cups his warm cheek, the boy gently leaning into the touch.

“do you want me too?”

he answers that question not with words, but with a kiss instead. a small, quick one, but a kiss nonetheless. pretty boy’s cherry lips are parted when he pulls away, just teasing the taller for more.

it’s not long until they shut their eyes again. neither can resist the other. as they meet, fueled by pure lust and passion, everything fires off at once. all of clay’s new feelings, that were so intimidating just minutes ago. everything falls into place. it feels so right. and he wishes it could never end.

pretty boy tastes like mint, like sweet candy. his tongue is wet and dances so beautifully with his own, like it was never meant to do anything else. fingers tangle into his curly blond hair, carefully tugging and playing with it. clay adores the sensation. he’s pulled down with the boy still under him, lips moving in a continuous, perfect sync.

pretty boy lays comfortably on his back, whimpering into the taller’s mouth as his legs get spread apart. clay sits in between them, running his hands up and down the soft, chubby thighs he has yearned for all morning. the boy shivers under his touch, deepening the kiss even more. small moans escape his swollen lips as he twists and turns, trapped beneath the blond.

they stay for minutes, lost in their own little world. a world in which nothing can disturb them. where they get to be alone together, forever. 

funny how you can find love in the strangest of places.

“pretty boy..” clay coos when they break away. his hair is disheveled from the rough treatment, face burning up.

pretty boy giggles. he loves being called that. he can barely catch his breath, let alone settle down.

“touch me,” he pleads, “touch me like you did last night.”

and so clay blesses him once again.

their meeting was unexpected, but he couldn’t be happier about it. now pretty boy is his, only his to love.

♡


End file.
